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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25597927">we raise our cups</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormwarnings/pseuds/stormwarnings'>stormwarnings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(sort of), Journey, Legolas-centric, Multi, Music, Orpheus and Eurydice Retelling, Post-Canon, canon character death but dont worry, contemplating mortality, creepy valar, elrond likes to tell stories, its not super permanent, silvan elves are like the fae, the valar are nothing like people bc WHY WOULD THEY BE</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:01:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,786</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25597927</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormwarnings/pseuds/stormwarnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas determined he would have to cut through the Woods of Oromë. If all went well, it should be a straight shot to what Celebrimbor had labelled as the Mansions of Aulë. Perhaps, were he a wiser elf, he would first seek the guidance of Mandos – because after all, he was still alive, and Gimli was still dead. </p>
<p>But Legolas was, at the end of all things, not a very wise elf. He was simply an elf with a fiddle and a bow, who was deeply in love. And he had to hope that would be enough.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>we raise our cups</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>And so it came to pass that Gimli, son of Glóin, Elf-Friend and Lockbearer and Lord of the Glittering Caves, died in the Undying Lands surrounded by friends of the most unexpected kind, and holding the hand of his beloved.</p>
<p>But stories aren’t about those who leave. Stories are about those who get left behind.</p>
<p>Legolas sat in the garden. It flourished, although Legolas had not the heart to tend it. It was begun by Sam, who had since gone on, and Gimli.</p>
<p>Every time Legolas thought of Gimli, he also thought of weeping. Perhaps, if he were younger, he would throw himself to the ground like a maiden sobbing for the loss of his beloved. But he was not young anymore. He had fought in a war, had lived a long life, had helped govern a kingdom, had…had watched those he loved the most, die.</p>
<p>He stared dully at the flowers. Gimli had grown to love flowers. Had woven them through his hair many a time, afterwards likening Legolas to a princess, with braided hair and flower circlet.</p>
<p>It was possible, Legolas admitted to himself, that he was acting a heartbroken fool. But he should think he was allowed to.</p>
<p>He had known that the dwarf would die. He had known that there was a limit to mortal lifespans. The many years they had spent together still felt like nothing, for Legolas could have continued learning his beloved for ages, on and on until the end of time. But still it had crept up on him unawares, a snake in the garden, like the white that had overtaken Gimli’s beard. And then suddenly it was there, and Legolas could no longer look himself in the mirror, ever youthful and golden, even as Gimli grew wizened and yet more solid with age.</p>
<p>And now he was gone.</p>
<p>“Foolish elf,” Legolas muttered to himself. He half-smiled, remembering the journey of the Fellowship, long ago. ‘Fool of a Took’, a phrase oft uttered by Gandalf of their small halfling companion. “Fool of an elf,” he said aloud, and was briefly cheered, thinking of days long past, of Pippin and Merry’s pranks and their unexpected bravery. But he instinctively looked around for Gimli, to share the memory and joy with him, and finding the space empty he soon slipped back into his fog of sorrow.</p>
<p>“You are moping, dear friend,” came a bright voice, and while Legolas certainly was, he did not want to hear as such.</p>
<p>“You know not how I feel,” Legolas responded stiffly. “And I would beg of you not to make light of my feelings, no matter what.”</p>
<p>The voice belonged to Glorfindel, who had trounced right in. Elrond and Erestor and Ecthelion, the rest of the ever-present quartet, were standing respectfully at the gate, with a much better display of manners than the legendary elf who was currently dragging Legolas up by the arm.  </p>
<p>Once Legolas would have goggled at him, the balrog slayer, the one whom the Valar themselves had awarded a second chance at life, acting as irreverent as possible and going about naming the whole Fellowship as his personal friends, but no longer. Now he understood Glorfindel, and even Ecthelion, and knew them for the royal idiots they were, not unlike Merry and Pippin once, and just as dear. (Though Legolas did not share that amusement with anyone save Gimli.)</p>
<p>This was why Legolas did not feel guilty for arguing. He did, however, invite Elrond, Ecthelion, and Erestor in. It would not do to leave such important elves hanging by the gate like unwanted suitors.</p>
<p>“Come,” Glorfindel said. “Walk with us.”</p>
<p>“No,” Legolas responded. “I would rather sit, and watch the flowers.”</p>
<p>“You are moping,” Glorfindel repeated. “The wallowing does not suit you, Legolas.”</p>
<p>Legolas did not have much patience for Glorfindel, today. He said, “I have given you my answer, and you will get no other.”</p>
<p>Glorfindel dragged him up. “Come, come, put on clean robes, let us be off and appreciate the woods on this beautiful day!”</p>
<p>“You know not of how this is,” Legolas snapped. “And as you do not, nor can you ever, appreciate the great depths of the sorrow I feel, I would beg of you to leave me alone, and let me sit in my misery! It is not such a simple thing, to lose the partner of your heart, one whom you love more than anything. You do not know how that is, to love a mortal, and so I would ask that you not try to force me to forget!” Legolas sat down in a huff.</p>
<p>The four elder elves stared at him. Erestor had one eyebrow raised, and Ecthelion was glancing at Glorfindel with some amusement.</p>
<p>“You are not the only elf to lose a loved one to the mortal death,” Elrond said mildly.</p>
<p>After a minute, Legolas sighed. He was not young anymore, not young as he had been in Elrond’s halls during the War of the Ring, bickering with Gimli and disagreeing with Aragorn. He was not that elf; he had years of experience now, and a life long lived. And yet he had forgotten himself, and acted young and foolish once again. “I apologize, my lords,” he said formally. “I should not have lost my temper.”</p>
<p>Glorfindel reached out, and he pulled Legolas into a short embrace. “Do not worry, friend. We do not judge each other by our shortest words, or we would be constantly killing each other, over and over.”</p>
<p>Erestor’s face at this comment was a bit horrified, while Ecthelion merely laughed. “He is not wrong. Do not fear, Legolas Thranduilion.”</p>
<p>Legolas dashed away a single tear as he stepped away from Glorfindel. Gimli had made him feel all kinds of emotions that he never anticipated, and that he was now crying was not unexpected.</p>
<p>“Come,” said Elrond. “Walk with me, down the street, and we will leave these three fools to entertain themselves.”</p>
<p>“Yes, my lord,” Legolas said, and stood to follow.</p>
<p>“Perhaps we should swim,” he heard Ecthelion say as they walked away.</p>
<p>“I do not enjoy swimming,” Erestor responded.</p>
<p>“That’s fine,” Glorfindel said, his voice growing faint. “I am sure we can toss you in.”</p>
<p>Elrond sighed heavily at the last comment. “In Imladris, I did appreciate the guidance of Erestor, and he was very interested to meet Glorfindel who was, of course, an invaluable asset. But I pity my poor counsellor, now that Glorfindel, and by extension Ecthelion, have latched onto him. They are good fighters, the best of the brave and skilled, and he is much a much more studious elf. But perhaps the adventure will be good for him.”</p>
<p>Legolas made a noncommittal noise.</p>
<p>They walked down the lane, past homes and other elves, nodding at them in deference.</p>
<p>“It has been many years,” Elrond said. “I know you know of the gift, though some would call it a curse, of my line. The Half-Elven, we who can choose our own fate – either the path of the Eldar, of the seas and shining Aman, or the path of men, to mortal death and beyond. I see it not as a curse for the most part, nor as a gift. It is merely a choice, and I made mine long ago.”</p>
<p>Legolas nodded, listening. He knew where this was going, to lovely Arwen, she who had been a good queen to Aragorn’s king, and an even better friend. Legolas felt briefly ashamed of his outburst, for to have such a fit in front of Elrond was properly disgraceful.</p>
<p>“So too did my twin. Do you know of him, Legolas?”</p>
<p>Legolas thought about Aragorn, and the line of Isildur, and said, “Some. Not much.”</p>
<p>“I will tell you a story then, Legolas. One that has been long in the making, and perhaps is not finished yet. I bid you listen, and do not judge. And I will share in your sorrow, for these memories are not easy, and I do not dwell on them often.”</p>
<p>Legolas glanced at Elrond, startled. “As you wish, my lord,” he said politely, for he was certain that whatever story Elrond was about to share, it would have some lesson. Elrond was not a young elf.</p>
<p>“Call me not by that title,” Elrond said. “What I am going to tell you is a long tale, and one that has not oft been heard from my own mouth. You are a friend, Legolas, and here in the light of the Valar I would bid you stand on equal ground with me, for you too have had your trials and been found worthy.” He smiled for a quick moment. “And after all, you and Estel and the twins were close as brothers.”</p>
<p>Legolas blinked, a little astonished. “As you say…Elrond. I thank you.”</p>
<p>Elrond nodded. “Now, where to begin. My twin was Elros, and we were born in the dark days, under the shadow of Morgoth. Our sire was Eärendil, son of Tuor and Idril. Our mother was Elwing, daughter of Dior who was the son of Beren and Lúthien. Eärendil set off at sea, as was his path, leaving us with our mother, who held with her a Silmaril. As you may know, in that time the sons of Fëanor were still bound by their oath, and so they came to our home in the Havens in search of it. There was massacre, and Elwing our mother leapt into the sea with the Silmaril, and never again did I see her until I reached these blessed shores.”</p>
<p>Here his face became far away, recalling the distant memories. “Elros and I were captured by the two remaining sons, Maedhros and Maglor. You may know their names, as they have become a kind of legend, to some, and demons in the night, to others. But they did repent, and tried to become better, all the time knowing that thrice-cursed oath would haunt their every step for the rest of their lives. Still they protected us, for many years, though we were a living embodiment of what the oath had driven them to. Maglor taught us how to sing, and the art of speech and politics. Maedhros taught us all that he knew of the blade, and of tracking and leading. In the end, Morgoth’s destruction came by the might of the Valar, and our foster-fathers, dragged by their oath although not completely without their old greed, stole the remaining two Silmarils. Maglor threw his into the sea, and wanders the shores of Middle Earth still, a ghost of a drowned kingdom. And Maedhros, his hand burning with the jewel, cast himself into a chasm, and he has not yet left the Halls of Mandos that I know. So the Silmarils were returned, to fire and sky and sea.” Here Elrond laughed. “I digress. Forgive me, Legolas.”</p>
<p>Legolas shrugged; he did not mind the history. He was too young to have lived it, but he was yet old enough to see the shadow it had cast over Middle Earth, to have seen the remnants of it everywhere he went.</p>
<p>“In that time, after the victory over Morgoth, Elros and I were given our choice, the choice of the Peredhil. Here our paths diverged, and Elros became Tar-Minyatur, the first king of Númenor, the line from which came eventually the kings of Gondor and Arnor. Our Estel was descended from Elros, and in him I saw those traces of my brother, and so too do I see it in Elrohir and Elladan, though the former more than the latter. But the point I am trying to make, Legolas, is that my brother was mortal, and my brother grew old. He lived five hundred years, which is long for mortal men, but to me it seemed but a blink of an eye. And all the time, watching as he grew the splendor of his people, I also watched as he grew grayer.</p>
<p>Then, still in the early days of the Second Age, a messenger arrived in search of me. It was a long journey to Númenor, made longer by the fear in my heart. For I knew deep in my soul that my twin, the bright and lively man who had always been the other half of my mind, was dying. So I arrived, and was brought to his bed, and there I stood, a healer who could not heal. We spoke, for many long hours, of his kingdom and his children, of my work under Gil-Galad and of what I hoped to achieve. We spoke too of Maglor and Maedhros, and our wandering childhood under their eyes, and turned to reminiscing. And so he clasped my hand, his own wrinkled but his eyes as sharp as ever, and told me that he would see me again someday, when the world was broken and made anew. And then he passed, and for the first time I thought of that choice as a curse. Not his mortality, or his decision to follow that path, no – the curse was my own choice. That I would continue on and it would be without him. That this was somewhere he would go that I could not follow.”</p>
<p>Here Elrond turned to Legolas, and his eyes showed that same sharpness.</p>
<p>Legolas barely knew what to say. He could only nod and listen to the story Elrond was weaving.</p>
<p>“But I continued,” Elrond said. “I continued, as is the way of the Firstborn. To go on forever, and always. And I met lovely Celebrían, and Sauron fell, and Celebrían and I were married and had three children.” His face grew sad. “And she was injured, and so I did not see her for many centuries as she returned here without us. But I thought still that we would all be united as a family, in the light of Valinor, and then Arwen fell in love with Aragorn, and for the second time I cursed my choice. And the twins, though they affirmed their taking of the elven path, remained in Middle Earth for longer than I desired, and only arrived but a few years ago.”</p>
<p>Legolas nodded again, before realizing that Elrond seemed to be awaiting an answer. “Ah.” Was the point of this only to bring him more sadness? Certainly he felt for Elrond, but he knew not what the lesson was in this all.</p>
<p>Elrond laughed. “I see I have not been clear enough. Legolas, your Gimli was a shining star, and his love for you burned bright and true. I know your pain, and I share your sorrow. For I see that you too would curse this existence, and be dragged under the waves of desolation. This no longer feels blessed, does it? To have to go on forever, without him. It is a gift, to love a mortal, but it is also the worst kind of pain.”</p>
<p>Legolas stood in silence for a minute. “You are wise,” he said. “And you are right. Watching all my companions pass away, the truest friends I ever knew, was horrible, but Gimli the worst of all. I had suffered, and looked only inward, because of my grief. I thought, as usual, I was alone.”</p>
<p>“But you are not,” Elrond said gently. “You are not alone. I would say that even here, on these shores, you are not alone in loving a dwarf to the point of a marriage-bond.” He laughed at the startled expression that Legolas made. “No, no, you are not. But I will not tell you whom, for they are desperately private, and I am certain they will seek you out themself soon.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Legolas said, and though he still felt Gimli’s death in everything, for a moment he was made lighter. “Now why are we here?”</p>
<p>“Ah,” said Elrond. “I have no interest in swimming, so we are going to leave Glorfindel and Ecthelion to persuade poor Erestor into that. No, we are here because this is the home of Fingon, and I think he too would understand you in your grief.”</p>
<p>Legolas startled. “Fingon, Fingolfin’s son?” Fingon the Valiant? The High King of the Noldor?</p>
<p>Elrond looked at him with a smile. “Yes, that Fingon. He too loved Maedhros, and in him I have found a willing companion to discuss those days long past.”</p>
<p>Elrond swept up the walkway, leaving Legolas to blink in the light of that unexpected revelation.</p>
<p>Legolas hurried to follow him, hoping against all hope that for once, he had in his sorrow seen fit to dress properly. It was not uncommon to see kings and princes, and Legolas had grown used to it in his days on Middle Earth, but Fingon was a legend of old, a figure that shone through song and story, and it was not every day one met another like that.</p>
<p>He walked through the door that Elrond had left open, and that was how he found himself face-to-face with an elf that was not entirely like anything Legolas had expected.</p>
<p>Fingon, even now, stood with a proud and noble stature. His skin was a few shades darker than Legolas’s own, and his hair was black as night. It hung down his back in long braids, woven through with strands of gold, and his eyes were as blue as his robes.</p>
<p>“Thranduilion,” he greeted, in a dialect of Sindarin that sounded positively ancient.</p>
<p>Legolas bowed, as seemed only appropriate. From near the counter, Elrond gave an amused snort.</p>
<p>“My lord,” Legolas responded, in his own Silvan-accented Sindarin.</p>
<p>Fingon looked pained. “Might we try Quenya?”</p>
<p>Legolas gave a relieved nod. “That would be smoother, I believe.”</p>
<p>“I apologize,” Fingon said, responding in kind with the language he knew better. “I prefer to greet others in their own language, but your mother’s folk were intensely private, and I departed from those shores before I had the chance to learn.”</p>
<p>“It is no worry,” Legolas said.</p>
<p>“Then I will not,” Fingon replied, and with an amused glance said, “Please call me Fingon, Legolas. You are of no less renown than I, and in some opinions, more deserving of it.”</p>
<p>Legolas sputtered. He found himself wishing Gimli were here, his beloved with his polished sentences and gracious manner, because how was he supposed to respond to <em>that</em>?</p>
<p>Elrond let out a laugh, bringing cups of tea over. “Peace, Legolas. He means no insult.”</p>
<p>“No, I did not,” Fingon said. “I meant merely to state that we are equals, and as such titles have no place here.”</p>
<p>Legolas still had no clue what to say. He gaped. <em>Equals</em>?</p>
<p>“Tea,” Elrond said, and handed him a cup.</p>
<p>Legolas sat down with his tea and felt yet another twinge of sadness – Sam and his ever-present mug, a tendency that many of the elves had adopted. “I thank you,” Legolas finally said. “Though I do not see how.”</p>
<p>Fingon looked at him with a tilt of his head, exchanging a curious glance with Elrond. “Do you not? What stories do you hear, my friend, because they are not the same ones I hear.”</p>
<p>“There are no stories about me.”</p>
<p>Fingon gave a cheerful laugh. “You should hear the songs they sing in the streets! They sing of the Nine Walkers, of the Quest and the Journey and the paths walked by none other before. Of the little halflings, of dwarves and elves side by side, of men who gave their lives and a Maia who lived again. Yes, Legolas of the Greenwood, I would say there are stories about you, and songs too.”</p>
<p>Legolas felt his mouth twist sadly. “Aye, then if there are, I do not wish to hear them about myself. I would rather hear those of my friends, for they are the brave and the noble, and the ones who deserve it. Not I, especially not with Gimli gone.”</p>
<p>“Did you not hear Elrond’s words?” Fingon asked. “For there are those who sing too of a great love – a dwarf-lord and an elven-prince who united their people, who fought bravely in the face of darkness, who found beauty in places none would think to look. It is a story not like any that have been heard before, and it is worthy in its inclusion beside the greatest of tales.”</p>
<p>Legolas blinked, taken aback. “I…”</p>
<p>Fingon sighed. “Do you know of the rescue of Maedhros from the hands of the Enemy at Thangorodrim?”</p>
<p>Legolas gave a slight nod.</p>
<p>“He was not well, when I found him, for he had been held for thirty years. I had a choice – his arm, or him, and so I made the choice. But I still saw, in the blankness of his eyes, how the loss of his limb had hurt. And it grieved me later, to see that blankness grow into something terrifying as his Oath consumed him, for I did love him. I do love him, despite what he did. Perhaps that is the cruelest, for I had long-awaited the eternity of chances we would have for forgiveness, and then I find that here on the blessed shores, he still has not arrived.” His stern gaze rested heavily on Legolas. “Eternity is no longer so beautiful when it is the realization of your worst fears.”</p>
<p>“What is the point of all of this?” Legolas finally cried. “Why must I relieve this heartbreak, and hear these tales of sorrow and mortal loss?”</p>
<p>Fingon shook away the grief that had rested on his face, and glanced at Elrond again before leaning in. “Because you are a hero, Legolas Thranduilion, Greenleaf, son of the Sindar and the Silvan. These will be our stories, but they do not have to end here. Do not leave this song a tragedy.”</p>
<p>It took Legolas many long moments to figure out what, exactly, Elrond and Fingon meant. “Do you mean…do you mean to say that I should seek him?”</p>
<p>Elrond sipped his tea innocently. “You have already changed the world, Legolas. Who is to say you cannot change it again?”</p>
<p>Legolas jumped up. “My lords,” he said, trying to compose himself.</p>
<p>“Perhaps wait until tomorrow’s dawn,” Elrond advised. “But by all means, take your leave.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Legolas had barely time to say, before he was hurrying out the door.</p>
<p>“Legolas!” Fingon called, and Legolas paused. “Do not forget a harp!”</p>
<p>“Aye!” Legolas shouted back, and then he dashed down the street. He could not help it; the idea that he might see Gimli again, might find a way to lessen his sorrow, might braid that unruly hair once again, was unimaginable.</p>
<p>What ought he to pack? For one, he realized, he would need a map. For all that Aman was strange and otherworldly, it was still the home of the Eldar, and he was almost certain that they had records of it.</p>
<p>So certainly, a map. A horse, and his bow. Some provisions (though with all luck he could hunt for food) plus a waterskin, a travel cloak and dagger. Old supplies he had not made use of for many years, but which it felt now familiar to be requiring once more.</p>
<p>He hurried down the street towards his home, not paying attention to his surroundings, which was how he almost ran into someone.</p>
<p>“Apologies,” Legolas said, already moving to continue on his way.</p>
<p>But it was Gandalf, and he had a spark of amusement in his eyes. “I take it you will be off, then?”</p>
<p>Legolas paused to look at him. “You meddling old man,” he said. “You have to know everything, don’t you?”</p>
<p>Gandalf smiled. “I have some things I believe you may find useful. I will send them to your home. Do be careful, Legolas. You may find more than you seek.”</p>
<p>“You cannot help but speak in riddles, even here,” Legolas said with a sigh. “But thank you anyway, old friend.”</p>
<p>Gandalf winked at him, and for a moment it was as if they were back in Middle Earth. But Gimli was not here, nor Aragorn, nor the hobbits, and Gandalf kept on his way too.</p>
<p>Legolas shook his head and refocused. He wanted to shout with joy. Off to find Gimli! He wanted to shout it to the heavens, so all the Valar would know he was coming.</p>
<p>But first, he needed to pack.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>It was early, barely dawn, when Legolas rose the next day. The sky was tinged with pink and gold, the warm blush colors of Arien rising in the east. He spoke quietly to the horse he had chosen for his journey, a friend named Quickriver in the Silvan dialect. Legolas had a brief moment of missing Arod, but he brushed it off and continued in his final packing.</p>
<p>It was as he was preparing that he heard someone rustling at the gate. Legolas frowned. Had he been expecting company?</p>
<p>The gate opened to reveal a tall elf, with dark hair and bronze skin. He wore simple but detailed finery, which spoke of great skill in crafting and weaving. He held a pile of things in his arms, and he began to talk without waiting for Legolas. “I have brought gifts; had I more notice, perhaps their make would have been better, but alas, this is what I have. I ask only in return that you carry this letter, and should you succeed in your quest, give it to the dwarf whose name is written there.”</p>
<p>Legolas, confused, took the letter from the elf. “Of course I will, friend, but may I ask your name?”</p>
<p>The elf’s eyes were sad. “Celebrimbor,” he said quietly, and then Legolas understood.</p>
<p>“Do you wish to come with me?”</p>
<p>Celebrimbor shook his head. “I do not yet feel that I have earned that right. But I have departed the Halls, and I am working to forgive myself. Someday, perhaps, if you are triumphant, I would join you. But not today. Today, I have only these gifts.”</p>
<p>Legolas blinked. “I thank you.”</p>
<p>Celebrimbor smiled, but it was pained, and Legolas wondered if this was who Elrond had spoke of. He handed Legolas an intricate map first, waterproofed and far more detailed than the one he had found. Then a small pouch, inside of which sat an intricately wrought pin with a piece of jade in the center, surrounded by fine swirls of silver, as fine as lace. “The craftwork of the Noldor comes at no small price,” Celebrimbor said. “I think that perhaps you will find a use for that.”</p>
<p>And last, he handed Legolas a beautiful wooden fiddle. “I did not make this,” Celebrimbor told him with a wry twist of the mouth. “For it is of dwarven make, and its like is rarely found on this side of the Sundering Seas. But music is important, and most of all to the Valar. Do not forget that.”</p>
<p>“I cannot thank you enough,” Legolas said, taking the fiddle last. It felt delicate, and yet sturdy, and he could not help but think of his dwarven wedding, long ago, the fast jigs played by the fiddlers as the dwarves danced in the halls.</p>
<p>“Deliver my letter to Narvi,” Celebrimbor said quietly, “and I will be forever in your debt. You are braver than I, friend, and I hope to see you soon.”</p>
<p>Legolas smiled at him. “Then I shall thank you only once more, and I will be off.” He climbed onto Quickriver with ease, remembering the warm weight of a dwarf at his back.</p>
<p>“Farewell, Legolas of the Path,” Celebrimbor said, and then laughed brightly. “I shall ensure that they begin a song in your absence, so that when you return all may know where you have journeyed!”</p>
<p>Legolas rolled his eyes and nudged Quickriver into a trot. “<em>Farewell</em>, Celebrimbor.”</p>
<p>The first part of his journey was quick, for it did not take him long to cross the Lonely Island. He saw many elves during the beginning portion of his quest, and surprisingly, some of them recognized him. He found many edible plants to eat, and had a brief moment of amusement, for if Gimli had been here he would have certainly put up a great fuss.</p>
<p>At night, camped far from other elves, Legolas accustomed himself again to the fiddle while Quickriver grazed. There were inelegant screeches the first few nights, but soon he found himself back in the rhythm of the music he had learned while under dwarven roofs.</p>
<p>Surprisingly, as intensely secretive as the dwarves had been about their customs, they were happy to share music. And so Legolas knew by heart many reels and jigs, lively tunes that felt as if they should be played while dancing. He had learned elven lays as well, to play alongside the lyrics he knew, but he could not deny the irresistibility of the leaping dwarven songs.</p>
<p>And so it was that Legolas found himself on the western end of the Lonely Island in short time, and then boarding a ship bound for Tirion and Calacirya. The ship was of Telerin make and command, but the captain recognized Legolas, and so welcomed him aboard. (Though his welcome of Quickriver was less enthusiastic.)</p>
<p>The crew were friendly, but foreign in their songs and their laughter, and there were scant other passengers. The three that there were Legolas believed were Vanyarin nobles, and while he shared with them the trait of fair hair, their skin was pale where his was warm-oaken brown.</p>
<p>But on the second night, while Legolas practiced his fiddle on the upper deck under the light of the moon and the stars, the Vanyarin elves approached him.</p>
<p>“May we ask your name?” One of them requested, an elleth dressed in fine robes of turquoise and lavender.</p>
<p>Legolas lowered his fiddle and hoped desperately that the slight screech he had made in the first few bars had gone unnoticed. “Legolas Greenleaf,” he responded politely.</p>
<p>There was a flutter of excitement from the first elleth, and a meaningful exchange of looks between the other elleth and the ellon. Those two were dressed alike – while still in light and beautiful clothes, theirs were more suited to travel and movement.</p>
<p>“Legolas of the Nine Walkers?”</p>
<p>Legolas inclined his head. “That is I, yes.”</p>
<p>“I am Aldon,” the ellon said, “and my partner is Tara. Our daughter, Nieninquë.”</p>
<p>Tara smiled. “We have not come to beg you for stories. It is simply that Nieninquë heard you playing, and we were curious about the songs. You see, Nieninquë likes to dance.”</p>
<p>“Ah,” Legolas said, relieved although a bit wary. “Do you know much of my story?”</p>
<p>“Some,” Aldon said.</p>
<p>“Then perhaps you know of my beloved, Gimli of the Glittering Caves. And if you know of him, then you understand the songs I play, for they are the lively cheers of the dwarves of Erebor and Aglarond.” He hesitated, waiting for the reaction.</p>
<p>Nothing changed in the beautiful faces of the Vanyar.</p>
<p>Nieninquë asked, “Then, may you play a full song? No matter who wrote it, I am sure they too liked to dance.”</p>
<p>Legolas smiled. “For you, I will.”</p>
<p>Aldon and Tara merely watched, and so Legolas put his bow to the string with no idea of which to play. He hesitated for a moment, seeing Nieninquë who stood straight and tall, her robes swirling in the night breeze. There was a hesitance in her body, an eager waiting for the music to start.</p>
<p>The song that came pouring from the fiddle was not one Legolas had heard in many a year. It had been played often in the kingdom of Erebor, for it had been the favorite of Fíli, Kíli, and Gimli in their youth. Legolas felt the instrument come alive under his hands, and Nieninquë danced joyfully.</p>
<p>It was strange, to hear the dwarven music on a faraway shore across the sea, among elves. But for a moment, it was as if he was there again, in the joyful light of the feasts under the mountain. Gimli’s smiling face, braiding jewels through both their hair and his fiery beard. Lady Dís and Gimli’s mother Mizim, pulling Legolas out onto the floor to dance. The warm mead in his chest, the warm fur blankets back in his chambers with Gimli. Those chambers, which somehow Legolas had come to love – the winter days when the mountain shut down for the entrances blocked with snow, the simple dimness of their rooms, and the fire that was kept always to drive away the cold. On those days, Gimli would refuse to leave the coziness of their bed most mornings, and yet he would still allow Legolas to drag him up to a balcony and look at the stars every evening.</p>
<p>The reel finished very suddenly, cutting off to leave a humming in the air. Legolas found that his cheeks were wet, and both Aldon and Tara had averted their gazes to watch their daughter dance.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Master Legolas,” Nieninquë said breathlessly. “That was wonderful.”</p>
<p>Legolas blinked and lowered his fiddle. “Aye, of course,” he said, hearing his voice crack just a little. “It is no hardship, not at all.”</p>
<p>Nieninquë chattered brightly with Tara for a quick moment in Vanyarin Quenya, of which Legolas could not quite follow.</p>
<p>“That was well played,” Aldon said quietly to Legolas. “Should you find yourself in our cities, we would be happy to host you. The songs of the Naugrim – ”</p>
<p>“The Khazâd,” Legolas interrupted. “They are the Khazâd.”</p>
<p>Aldon inclined his head politely. “The songs of the Khazâd sound pleasant, and I am certain our musicians would be interested to learn more of them.”</p>
<p>“I thank you,” Legolas said. “Although I will not be going in that direction. Perhaps someday.”</p>
<p>“We shall look forward to it,” Aldon replied. He did not ask where Legolas was going, for which he was glad.</p>
<p>As such, they stood and looked at the stars.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>It was not long before they passed through Calacirya, the Cleft of Light. When Legolas saw Tirion upon Túna, the gleaming city upon the fair green hill, he was sorely tempted to stop. But after a brief refresh with Quickriver, he decided to push on. Past Tirion, the pass widened. And when Legolas finally stood on the other side of the Pelóri, for a moment the view stole his breath away.</p>
<p>Before him stretched the land of the Valar. Green country, white-capped mountain peaks, a river that snaked through the valley below like a great silver snake. And everything tinged with a soft gold, as if the sunlight itself was something tangible.</p>
<p>Quickriver nickered.</p>
<p>“Yes, yes,” Legolas replied. He turned in his saddle to pull out Celebrimbor’s map. It was a bit cramped, what with the fiddle and his travel bags, but he was making do.</p>
<p>Legolas spread it in his lap as Quickriver walked sedately. He ran his finger over the slightly raised ink, which lent itself to topography, and the shining lines that symbolized rivers. The Pelóri mountains, which wrapped around all of the Undying Lands, stretched in the distance to their left and right. Behind them lay Tirion, and the sea, and all that Legolas knew. Before them stood a golden country, a land of beings that were greater than himself, of creatures that were strange and unfamiliar.</p>
<p>Before him, somewhere, stood Gimli. And it was this thought that drove him forward, turning Quickriver southwest.</p>
<p>They followed the base of the mountains for many days. It was an odd change, for Legolas had grown used to the security of his home on the island. Food everyday, a cozy bed under a roof. Friends to greet, someone always around to talk with. After Gimli’s death, it had all amplified his sense of grief, like an echo that moved through a cavern.</p>
<p>At the foot of the huge range, between the trees and the rivers and the rocks and the sky, Legolas found himself drifting towards a kind of calm balance that he had not felt since Gimli lay beside him. Perhaps it was the gift of the land of the Valar. Perhaps it was the blessing of the silence, for Legolas, in all the days, saw no one but the animals of the land and his own reflection.</p>
<p>But perhaps, Legolas thought, it was because it brought back long-gone days of old – of ranging trips with Elladan and Elrohir, of merry songs and stories with Tauriel, of hunting and campfires with Aragorn. Of the days of their Fellowship, before Frodo gained such shadows under his eyes, when their biggest worries were if Pippin and Merry had accidentally eaten their dinner for lunch. And of his journeys with Gimli, to Fangorn and Aglarond, their later trips to Erebor or Greenwood. With the night birds calling to each other, the burbling of a stream, and the shadow of the mountains and trees to his either side, it felt like his dwarf should be just on the other edge of the sparks, watching him with a smile.</p>
<p>It was those nights that he played the fiddle for Quickriver and the stars. He endeavored to do more than just remember those memories, but to feel them. To live in them. To never let himself forget that fierce love.</p>
<p>He determined he would have to cut through the Woods of Oromë. If all went well, it should be a straight shot to what Celebrimbor had labelled as the Mansions of Aulë. Perhaps, were Legolas a wiser elf, he would first seek the guidance of Mandos – because after all, he was still alive, and Gimli was still dead.</p>
<p>But Legolas was, at the end of all things, not a very wise elf. He was simply an elf with a fiddle and a bow, who was deeply in love. And he had to hope that would be enough.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The Woods of Oromë were dark and deep. They felt both alien and familiar all at once. For they felt very much like Fangorn, and like Greenwood, and Legolas had not been in either of those places for a very long time. But while the Woods felt dangerous, and strange, their strangeness was the kind that spoke to Legolas’s Silvan heritage, and he gladly welcomed it.</p>
<p>He kept in mind his mother’s lessons to have a care for the path, because time was woven thicker in some places, and thinner in others, ensnaring mortals like flies in amber. He guided Quickriver as straight and true as he could, and he delved into the braided symphony of the forest’s song as often as possible without losing his mind. (For in that aspect, it was different from Fangorn and Greenwood. Those were forests with rules and rhyme. This was the forest of a Vala, and it did not have to follow such constructs.)</p>
<p>It was on the third day that he heard it.</p>
<p>Greenwood was a forest that had three Courts – that of the Silvan, that of the Hunt, and that of the other (the shadows, the darkness, the terror that lies just outside the reach of the firelight, the one that seeks to <em>devour</em>). Legolas did not know the Courts of these Woods, but he knew still the call of the Hunt, because it sang to his very soul.</p>
<p>So he left Quickriver at camp, with whispered instructions and a clearing to graze in. He wore his bow on his back, his fiddle in his hand, his marriage beads in his hair. He knew they were searching for him. He would meet them as he was, and nothing less.</p>
<p>Legolas stood on one side of a gorge that had not been there before. Far below, the water rushed through stone, and dense forest coated both sides of the gorge. He stood in a clearing, where the land arched over the gorge to stretch towards the other side. The gap was perhaps six feet. An easy jump for dangerous creatures.</p>
<p>Legolas’s mother had forever told him not to go to the Hunt. He did not know quite what to do when it was they who were coming to him.</p>
<p>Before long, he heard the pounding of hooves, the blowing of horns, the calling of voices. It was a cacophony, it was an absence; it was a symphony, it was a peace.</p>
<p>The one to step out onto the point was, Legolas knew instantly, Oromë. He was tall, with the lower body and legs of a white stallion, but the upper body of a dark-skinned man. Blue tattoos covered his chest, and his hair was pure white, falling in long braids hung with feathers. He did not have a face. The bleached-bone, grinning skull of a deer sat where his head should, with a full set of antlers, and something glowing in the eye sockets.</p>
<p>Beyond him at the tree line was arrayed his Hunt – those who had sought a closer bond with the forest, who had allowed the wild into their soul. Elves who no longer looked like elves, with misshapen bodies or scales, tails and paws instead of hands, too-sharp teeth and too-large eyes, bodies that were strange because they were not quite fit together in the way that the world had ordained. They were not horrifying. They were beautiful in the way that a mountain lion with blood-stained teeth was beautiful.</p>
<p>“Lord,” Legolas said, and knelt. The Silvan elves owed most respect to Oromë, and he knew he must honor that.</p>
<p>Oromë tilted his head. “Do you seek to hunt with us, Legolas Thranduilion?” There was cold disdain in his voice, and titters of amusement came from the Hunt.</p>
<p>Legolas knew what they saw. A strange elf – the golden hair of the elves from over the sea, the brown skin of the elves who lived under the trees. He bore an instrument of dwarven make and a bow of Galadriel, and the travel-worn clothes that were more like a man than anything else.</p>
<p>Legolas straightened, and looked at Oromë. “That is not my name,” said he. “My name is Green-leaf-who-floats-in-the-cascading-autumn-stream.” It was a long word in Silvan, evocative more of the image than the actual linguistic definition, but that was how Silvan names tended to work.</p>
<p>The Hunt went silent, and something flickered behind the skull of Oromë’s face. “It is good to see that the old ways have not been entirely lost under Oropher and Thranduil king.”</p>
<p>Legolas frowned. “The old ways have never been lost,” he said with pride, and he did not care that he was speaking back to a Vala. “Oropher, it is true, never had any right to Greenwood the Great, though the Eldar thought him king. But Thranduil King has the right-gift-honor, for he is the widow of the rightful queen, she who <em>was </em>chosen to lead. And after Thranduil King passes over the sea, a new ruler will be chosen by the Silvan blood-spirit-kins. That is how things have been. That is how things have always been.”</p>
<p>Oromë stood tall and proud, and this time as he spoke, he spoke with power, of thunderstorms and canyons and the howling of wolves. “I misjudged you, then, and I think I will not be the first to do so. It is good to see that the ways have not been forgotten. And I know one among us who will be gladdened by the news of Thranduil King, and who will, perhaps, wait for him when he arrives.”</p>
<p>And Oromë stepped aside, and an elleth stepped forward, except that she was no longer an elleth. Scales patched her dark skin, and feathers grew all over in place of her hair. Her nose was naught but the slits of a snake, and the way she moved implied the grace of a body that was no longer earthbound.</p>
<p>But her eyes. Those his own. </p>
<p>They looked at each other, across the gap, everything silent save for the sound of the crashing water far below. Legolas would have liked to step forward, to be crushed in his mother’s arms the way he had in his youth. But while she would always be his mother, and he would always be her son, they were neither of them who they had once been.</p>
<p>“You go to seek the dwarf,” his mother said, and her voice was like the calling of a hawk and the hissing of a snake.</p>
<p>Legolas gave a nod. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, unsure what to do. His mother had long since been gone from his life; finding her on this quest was perhaps the most unexpected thing yet. “My dwarf,” he said, with the Silvan love-soul-everything possessive form of the word. “If my lord permits, would you hear a song of his people?”</p>
<p>His mother nodded.</p>
<p>Legolas played the reel that he had played for Nieninquë, with some compositional changes that he had added. With them, it felt closer to the song that his heart sang whenever he thought of Gimli. It let Legolas feel as if his dwarf was almost there, just out of view, laughing and standing solidly, a rock for Legolas to anchor himself upon.</p>
<p>When he had finished, his mother nodded once more. It was a sharp movement, and tears glittered in her eyes. “While I was not watching,” she said. “You grew up.”</p>
<p>She had not been there. But Legolas did not say that. Instead he said, “I did what you have always told me to do. I watched the path where I put my feet, and did not spend all my time staring at the stars. So I found love in forms where I least expected it.”</p>
<p>“Then I am proud,” responded his mother, and that was that. She spoke a word that Legolas could not define, but which put a warm feeling in his chest – the Silvan word for a loving farewell, but a farewell that implied someday, along the line, their paths would cross again.</p>
<p>“Do you hunt with us, then?” Oromë asked, stepping back towards him.</p>
<p>And Legolas was tempted, for he could feel the call of the Hunt, to follow the deer, of sharp teeth and feathered arms and the moon above. He shook with the singing in his bones, the tug of his heritage, an ache he had not felt since the sea-longing had taken him, and he almost leapt forward.</p>
<p>But it was Gimli he sought. He looked down at the water, carving its way through stone, and up at Oromë, who had an air of amusement. “That is not my Path,” Legolas said. “As I am sure you well know.”</p>
<p>Oromë nodded. “Then may you be blessed, Green-leaf, Thranduilion.” This time, he said the name respectfully, an honor to both lineages that Legolas laid claim to. “You have not chosen an easy Path.”</p>
<p>Legolas thought of Aragorn’s old and lined face, of Arwen’s beautiful hair turned grey. He thought of three graves in Gondor, two small knights buried on either side of their King. He remembered Frodo’s weary eyes, and how Sam had sailed across the Sundering Seas for him, of Bilbo’s tales, and dwarven remembrance chants. And Elrond’s tragedy, and Fingon’s words – <em>these will be our stories. Do not leave this song a tragedy. </em></p>
<p>And Gimli, his fiery hair turned mithril-silver, his body becoming solid as stone. The way he had smiled at Legolas, even as he died.</p>
<p>“I know,” Legolas replied. “But it is mine all the same. For I have learned what love can truly be, and how it is not so different from sorrow after all. I would not change how I feel then for anything, because my grief is not from a lack of love, but rather a wealth of it.”</p>
<p>Oromë’s voice sounded like it was smiling. “Then I think that you will find your way clearer. Perhaps someday you will return. Safe travels, and here we shall leave you.”</p>
<p>The Hunt melted away as quickly as they had come. His mother was the last to leave, and she looked back only once. There was a longing in her eyes, something that told him when his father finally set foot in these lands, she would be there.</p>
<p>When Legolas left the thrall of the Hunt, he found that it was dawn again. Quickriver was hardly moved at all, and so Legolas determined that it was only the morning of the next day, and he had lost very little time.</p>
<p>The path truly was clearer to him now, and he found himself smiling.</p>
<p>         </p><hr/>
<p>    </p>
<p>Unfortunately, he could not leave the Woods without encountering yet another Vala. This one, however, was more of a surprise than Oromë. She came to him in the morning, as he heated water over the fire. She stepped into the clearing, and it was as if time stood still.</p>
<p>Her skin was ruddy, with paler spots where there was no pigmentation. The paler areas showed her veins, and green they were, green like the leaves when the sun shone through them, green like her hair. Her eyes were milky white, and vines and flowers trailed out of them and down her face, as if she had both eyeballs and empty eye sockets at the same time. Her arms were covered with patterns, dyed on with a red-brown paste, and Legolas could not have described what she wore, other than that it grew and changed.</p>
<p>“Lady Yavanna,” Legolas said, and knelt. In a strange way, Quickriver seemed to be kneeling too.</p>
<p>She spoke then. “Rise, my child. I know who it is you seek.”</p>
<p>Legolas swallowed. Yavanna was the husband of Aulë, and if she did not approve, he would never reach those halls. “You are far from your pastures, my lady.”</p>
<p>Yavanna smiled, revealing the insects and fungus that crouched between her teeth. “So are you, Legolas of the Path.”</p>
<p>Legolas shrugged, as inelegant as it seemed before this lady. “I have always been on some kind of journey,” he responded. “This one is simply through different lands.”</p>
<p>“You truly intend to find him, then? You are not meant to go where mortals do, young one.”</p>
<p>"I am not young,” Legolas said, knowing it to be true. “Compared to some of the Eldar, perhaps, but I am no youth. I have known great loss, and I have known great love.” Then he tilted his head. “But you already know that, don’t you.”</p>
<p>Those pale eyes watched him. “Would you do what the greatest friends of mortals could not?”</p>
<p>Legolas was finding quickly that this lady was more terrifying than Oromë. “I can only try.”</p>
<p>“What will you give up?”</p>
<p>Legolas thought this a very loaded question. “Who is asking?”</p>
<p>She smiled delightedly, which made Legolas feel rather like a mouse in a trap. And perhaps she was the lover of all green things, but Legolas thought about unfamiliar forests, and poisonous plants, and the Ents who tore Isengard to pieces, and felt that he was right to be intimidated.</p>
<p>“I know you, Legolas Green-leaf,” said she. “You stood in my forests, and your soul has never left these trees, no matter where your heart goes. So I ask again – what will you leave behind, for this dwarf?”</p>
<p>“Is this an exchange?” Legolas asked, for it was early in the morning. “I give you something, and you give me passage to your husband’s halls?”</p>
<p>Yavanna, of all things, laughed, and it made Legolas feel slightly safer, for it was a kind laugh. “My child, you will have your passage to my husband’s halls.” Her eyes, Legolas thought, might be glowing. “You will have my protection, for I too am driven by love, and you will have my guidance in your future, though you may not expect it. I simply ask you to think – what are you willing to give up?”</p>
<p>Legolas thought, and he knew that he ought to be careful with his words, because words were the most dangerous things of all. “I will give up what I must for the love of heart and family,” he finally said, “but no more, and no less.”</p>
<p>Legolas hoped that was vague enough that it wouldn’t bind him to anything too closely. He knew all too well from his mother’s lessons when he was young how the wrong oath, or the wrong answer to a sly question, could spell doom for oneself.</p>
<p>“So you shall,” said Yavanna, and something settled into place, and it did not feel wrong. “So you shall, my child, and so you shall need my assistance. But first, you must go to your dwarf.”</p>
<p>Legolas did not remember much of what followed. He did, however, eventually find himself sitting by a fire of which the ashes were just finished cooling, with an indignant Quickriver nickering beside him. So Yavanna had not held them for long, but evidently she had felt the need to hold his horse too, and for that, Legolas feared, Quickriver would never forgive him.</p>
<p>He also found himself clutching Celebrimbor’s pin, which should have been tucked away safely in his pack, and which was also glowing, something it had not done before. He winced as he tried to unclench his stiff fingers from around it, and as soon as he let it go, the words he had spoken to Yavanna slammed into him.</p>
<p>This left Legolas slightly disgruntled. The War of the Ring had put him off magic jewelry for what, he had hoped, would be the rest of his life. Evidently, he was wrong, even though this pin seemed only to serve to remind him of Yavanna’s dual blessing and pronouncement of doom.</p>
<p>He found himself tapping the pin, and thought of Gimli, and the jewel he had worn for most of his life, encasing the three hairs of Galadriel. So he sighed, and put the pin on his cloak, and checked the map. At the rate he was going, he would have to find his way into Aulë’s Mansions and argue with <em>that </em>Vala too before he would be allowed to see his beloved.</p>
<p>“I am coming, Gimli,” Legolas said aloud, if only to reassure himself. “I am coming, because I swore never to leave you behind.” He paused, feeling vaguely ill as he recalled Yavanna’s words, but then said with renewed determination, “I will never leave you behind.”</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>And so a week later, Legolas found himself reaching the edge of the Woods, as the ground turned from soft moss and pine needles to rock and sparse flowers. He stopped at the river that bordered the edge of the Woods, and looked in the distance, at the huge mountains that were the halls of Aulë.</p>
<p>Legolas paused Quickriver, letting him take a drink from the shallow river. Quickriver made a soft whuffing noise, and Legolas nodded. “I shall get some water too, you are right.” He refilled his water skin, and the other one, unsure of how long, exactly, the rest of the journey would be.</p>
<p>He stared at his reflection in the lazily moving water. He was not the same ellon who had set out from his home, only…what, two months ago? He laughed sheepishly to himself, admitting that he had lost track of time. But still, Legolas realized. He did not quite look like he had, back in Fingon’s home.</p>
<p>“No,” he said aloud. He was not that ellon. And there was nothing stopping him, now that he was here. He was going to see his husband, whether the Vala liked it or not.</p>
<p>Legolas leapt back on Quickriver’s back. “You are a good friend,” he said before they started again. “You have brought me all this way, and for that, I will forever be in your debt.”</p>
<p>Quickriver made a snorting noise, and Legolas briefly wondered if the horse could understand him. He’d certainly grown to have almost an attitude, since Yavanna had visited them. Legolas patted Quickriver’s neck, and Quickriver gave a nicker, and then abruptly started fording his way across the river.</p>
<p>The majority of their day was spent riding through a broad, empty land, towards the mountains on the horizon. They gradually got larger and closer, until Legolas and Quickriver, at twilight, rode through a pass in the hills, and then suddenly – there were the doors.</p>
<p>They were akin to the Doors of Durin, that Legolas had seen so long ago, but also not, in that they were much, much, bigger. Legolas swallowed, and dismounted Quickriver slowly. Quickriver neighed uncertainly, and Legolas could only nod. The doors were huge, as big as a mountain themselves, and Legolas, now having met two of the Valar, finally understood exactly who it was that he was about to challenge.</p>
<p>It took him several minutes to figure out what, exactly, he should do. Knock? On these doors? Legolas wasn’t even sure how one would go about <em>opening </em>these doors. But his pin was shining, and he could feel Yavanna’s strength, and this was his Path. He took a deep breath, and twined his fingers in Quickriver’s mane. “We have come this far,” he said.</p>
<p>So he strode up to the doors, and knocked, briskly, three times.</p>
<p>He did not have to wait long. With a great, grinding noise, like a mountain being cleaved in half, one door opened. It would been wide enough for three horses to walk through side-by-side, but it was barely a crack, barely an opening at all.</p>
<p>Legolas stepped inside, feeling incredibly small, and hesitantly pulled Quickriver with him. Quickriver whickered in an annoyed sort of way, but he followed Legolas nonetheless.</p>
<p>They stepped into an enormous hall, huger than the great dwarven chambers in Erebor or Aglarond, and twice as grand. Far above, Legolas could not even see the ceiling, for it was clouded, as if this cave-chamber had its own weather system.</p>
<p>And it was empty.</p>
<p>Legolas gestured to Quickriver, for he did not want to break the silence of the cavern. Quickriver followed, and for many long minutes his hooves were the only sound. Finally, they found a wall, and Legolas leaned against it, suddenly very weary.</p>
<p>“What do I do, Quickriver?” He whispered, and even that smallest of sounds echoed around the entire room until it was like a discordant song.</p>
<p> And then some urge possessed him, and later he would not remember why, to pull out his fiddle and begin Gimli’s song, here in this dark hall, in a place most unfamiliar to Legolas, but where he thought the reel would once more be at home. And as he played, he found himself singing words, words pulled from other songs, words that Aragorn or Bilbo had written, words that Gimli once spoke. His pin glowed brightly, illuminating Quickriver’s eyes, and then Legolas realized – it was not just his pin, but the chamber. Torches were lighting themselves, jewels embedded in the ceiling glowing, veins of silver that ran through the walls radiating something like moonlight, showing a path under the stone that ran far down into the distance.</p>
<p>Legolas scrambled to his feet and began to walk the Path, all the while playing the song, gripped with some surety that if he stopped he would be lost once more, in these halls that were not made for him. But when his voice finally ran out, and Legolas’s arms were shaking for holding up the instrument so long, he found himself before a throne.</p>
<p>“We have been expecting you,” Aulë said, and though Legolas had met Yavanna, met Oromë, the voice of the Vala still left him feeling like a shaky youth. It was the voice of the earth quaking, of volcanoes exploding, of the pounding of metal and the mining songs of the dwarves. It was the voice of a great one, and before him Legolas almost fell to his knees.</p>
<p>He looked up far, very far, for Aulë took a form that was not even remotely close to the size of a mortal. Aulë was a being fit for the size of the doors, and he was strangely put together. His skin cracked like stone, fiery lava shining from between the cracks, and yet he wore the simple clothes of a blacksmith. From afar one could see the glimmer of precious gemstones embedded in his skin like freckles, and there was a red wrap around his eyes, though there was no doubt that he could still see Legolas.</p>
<p>“Well,” Aulë said after a minute. “Do you have anything to say, Legolas of the Path?”</p>
<p>Legolas did not know when, exactly, everyone had decided to adopt that name for him, and that indignancy led him to straighten his back and clear his throat, even though he was but an ant compared to the great smith. “Greetings, lord.”</p>
<p>“I know why you are here,” Aulë rumbled. “For my wife does not well hide her intentions. It is easy to see, that you are one of hers.”</p>
<p>It took a bit of effort for Legolas to nod. “I am here to see him,” he said, then with more confidence, “I am here to see my husband.”</p>
<p>Aulë shifted, on his throne, and said, “Why should I allow you this?”</p>
<p>“The Sindar and the Khazâd were once friends,” Legolas replied. “And perhaps the history between our races is long and fraught with disagreement, but I would like to think that it has grown better. Gimli and I brought our families close, and in doing so, renewed the bonds of our people. And beside that he is my One, and the other half of my soul, and I have come this far.”</p>
<p>Aulë was silent for many long seconds. “My wife has never sent anyone to my halls,” he finally said. “And in you I see her spirit, and in your voice I hear the song of the stars and the trees. Your love is a familiar tale, but I cannot let you do this. Your road has diverged from Gimli’s, and there are some rules and oaths in this world that cannot be broken.”</p>
<p>And that. Well. Legolas refused to accept that. “I have already bound myself,” he said, and he held up the pin, shining with an unearthly light. “I will do what I must, for love of heart and family.”</p>
<p>Aulë looked down at him, and then he sighed, like rocks tumbling down a cliff face. He stepped off his throne, and as he did, he shrank, until he stood just a head above Legolas, the size of an elf save for his alien appearance. And he unwrapped the red cloth from around his eyes, and Legolas saw that they shone not unlike his pin, not unlike the Ring, not unlike the stories Legolas had heard of the Silmarils.</p>
<p>“I see now,” Aulë said, with the slightest amusement, “that my wife has already determined your Path, and that I do not have much choice in the matter.”</p>
<p>Legolas thought this a good thing, so he nodded hesitantly.</p>
<p>“And so I ask you again,” Aulë said. “What will you give up, for your love?”</p>
<p>Legolas met those terrible eyes. “What I must.”</p>
<p>Aulë nodded. He began to walk, and he beckoned to Legolas to follow. “You cannot stay, Legolas of the Path.” Legolas began to argue, but Aulë held up a hand. “You cannot stay, and he cannot leave, but perhaps you can return. Hear me now, Legolas. You must never look back. You are changed, and you have done what no other has. You cannot go back to your old life, and you cannot look back.”</p>
<p>This was foreboding, but Legolas took a deep breath and thought of Gimli. “Aye, my lord.”</p>
<p>Aulë was leading him somewhere. “You have bound yourself to this Path, Legolas. And so I will tell you this – you will never find a home. Your home is with those you love, and those you love are spread throughout time and land. You will be constantly searching, constantly journeying, for this is what you must do.”</p>
<p>And Legolas thought – well. He was not surprised, but the burden of this pronouncement felt both weighty and familiar.</p>
<p>Finally Aulë turned, to look at him again. “And perhaps, Legolas, perhaps – you can show others the way.”</p>
<p>That felt right. He stood straight, and put a hand on Quickriver, and said, “I accept that.”</p>
<p>Aulë smiled, which for a moment transformed his craggy face into something far kinder. “Then there is someone here to see you.”</p>
<p>And Legolas turned, and saw red hair, a stout body, tattooed and short (always short), and he did not care that he was shoving his fiddle and reins into the hand of an age-old Vala, for he was running towards his Gimli, and all was well once more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>come scream with me on <a href="https://stormwarnings.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> and leave some love if you enjoyed !!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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